


Goldenblue Summer

by infamousplot



Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: 30 Kisses Challenge, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-11 15:31:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3330908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infamousplot/pseuds/infamousplot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything moves slower in the Summer. Almost like it's running on another world's time. Lazy, hazy, living in a separate existence until the leaves start to change. They're living on borrowed time, in a borrowed life, but it doesn't matter. No one will remember once these days are over, so no one else can decide how they spend them.</p><p>30 GilCu drabbles for the 30 Kisses Challenge. Updates will be sporadic and probably slow, this is mostly an excuse for me to practice writing these assholes being somewhat romantic. Chapter one: Radio Cassette-Tape. Rating/warnings may change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Radio Cassette-Tape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I love you_  
>  A metallic blue  
> I love you  
> Golden blue  
> I miss you  
> Shine all alone  
> I miss you  
> Don't know what to do  
> I don't glitter like the stars above  
> I don't glow like neon alone  
> Don't blush it's just the wind outside  
> Don't rush to be by my side"
> 
> Sonic Youth; **"Golden Blue"**

"Why exactly do you have this?" Cu asked, watching in mild boredom as Gilgamesh fiddled angrilly with a little plastic rectangle. It looked vaguely familiar, not from his own memories but from the ones the grail had implanted in him, and if Gilgamesh had it then it was probably a noteworthy object. After all, the guy prided himself on owning everything worth having- and that didn't limit him to the sorts of treasures you'd expect, like weapons and jewels. Cu had seen him pull ancient looking computers and gaming consoles from that Gate, older models of cars and planes... he had every notable creation ever made by man, it seemed.

"For the same reason I have anything," Gilgamesh snapped in response, spinning one of the little plastic gears with his finger. "Because it is woth having."

"Ok, let me rephrase that- why are you bringing it out _now?_ " Lancer sighed, rolling his eyes. 

It was summer, painstakingly hot, and even with the setting sun it didn't seem to be getting any cooler. He and Gilgamesh had been sitting on the church's porch since dawn, small fans and popsicle sticks littered around them. The radio had been crackling some stale talkshow, but now it was only static. Lancer had fiddled wih it, Gilgamesh had fiddled with it, and now he seemed to have given up, and was fiddling with... whatever that thing was.

Gilgamesh heaved a dramatic sigh, then shot him a weary look.

"If you must know, this is a cassette. It has music on it, and it's the only thing this old bauble-" he prodded the radio with his foot, causing it to spit more static- "will play. I'm growing tired of the silence."

"Aw, and here I thought you loved our scintillating conversations!" Lancer pouted, flopping down with mock offense.

"Do you even know the definition of scintillating, I wonder?" Gilgamesh mused, eyes focused on the shimmering tape that dangled from the cassette wth a laser-like focus.

"Something to do with stars." Cu shrugged. His bare arms had stuck to the wooden floor with sweat, making gross  _rip_ sounds when he shifted. "I use it right?"

Gilamesh didn't answer, which could have meant either a yes or a no, but probably meant that he just didn't care. He wasn't exactly invested in much of what Lancer had to say. He was much more interested in listening to himself talk, it seemed.

There was a small snap and a tiny curse, followed by the sound of plastic against hardwood, and Cu turned his head just in time to catch a limpse of the cassette skittering across the floor. It slid right out the door, off the patio and into the tall grass. He watched it, staring into the yard after it had disappeared.

"Blasted thing!" Gilgamesh snarled. He seemed to be bristling, shooting daggers with his eyes- which was a nice alternative from his usual shooting of actual daggers.

The radio continued to crackle as the cicadas joined its tune, filling the evening with a rather peaceful white noise. Lancer sighed, crossing his arms behind his head and smiling. Even in the heat, this was a wonderful break from their usual schedules.

"You think Kirei's gonna chew us out for having the doors open all day?" he asked, looking up at the ceiling. There were a couple of moths clinging there, wings quivering sluggishly as the sun sank further and the night got closer. The fake ass priest had been gone all day, which was almost enough to make up for the fact that he'd had no one else to hang out with besides Gilgamesh. Which, considering the circumstances, wasn't the worst way he could have spent the day. After all, he hadn't had any chores to deal with, and Gilgamesh had been surprisingly tolerable.

Honestly, it was hard to tell how he felt about Gilgamesh most days. Sometimes they got along alright, sniggering and smirking about stupid inside jokes behind Kirei's back, and other times they were at each others throats- or, more accurately, Cu was at Gil's throat, trying not to wind up with a  _slit_ throat.

"It matters not, I doubt it's affected the temperature all that much." Gil sighed. He was fanning himself with a hand, glaring at the ceiling.

"Aren't you from the desert?" Lancer asked, sitting up. His skin was glistening with sweat, arms exposed and tanktop hanging limply off his shoulders. It was rare he showed off any skin, aside from when he was naked. He wasn't as well-built as his stories implied, but he was still pretty toned, his skin a pale gold, sparkling richly just like the rest of him... Lancer shook his head, kicking his brain for thinking like that. Good looks aside, he was still an asshole more often than not. No use in getting caught up in aesthetics. "Shouldn't you be used to this sort of thing?"

"Desert heat is a dry heat," he replied, voice as dry as the sands he spoke of. "I was not built for this humidity." 

Cu nodded. It made sense. He just wasn't used to the damn heat, period. It was never this hot and humid back in Ulster. He missed the frigid rains of Ireland... anything was better than sitting in this oppressive church.

Twisting onto hands and knees, Lancer crawled over to the door, looking through the grass for the tape Gil had thrown away. It was sticking out in between some flowers. He picked it up, brushing off the dirt and shuffling back to his spot.

"What was on that thing, anyway?" Cu asked, tossing the tape up and down. Gilgamesh eyed him sourly.

"Music. It's somewhat old now, not to you or I, but in the eyes of the current generation. Songs from around the time when I was summoned. I was rather fond of them. Back then, CDs weren't yet popular, so I put the songs of my preference on a tape. I haven't listened to them in years." He was suprisingly quiet as he spoke, eying the tape with a look of nostalgia evident in his face. Cu looked examined it, looking at it closely. The actual tape part of it seemed to be a little wrinkled, bent over and jammed into the side. Gently, he tugged at it, loosening it up enough to unfold it. Carefully, he smoothed it out, then stuck a finger into the little white gear, twisting it. It clicked a few timed, pulling the tape back in and winding it around inside.

"Here you go." he tossed it to Gil. It bounced against his chest before he reached a hand up to snatch it, sitting up to glare at him.

"What did you..." he paused, turning it over, studying it. "You... fixed it?" he seemed skeptical, as though he didn't believe Lancer was capable of such a thing.

"It was just a little tangled is all." Cu shrugged. "Put it in, see if it works."

Gilgamesh frowned, but nonetheless he got up, pressing a button on the radio and sliding the cassette inside. Cu got to his knees, shuffling over to see how it worked. It just went into a little slot, which clicked closed again. Gil pressed down another switch, one with a little white triangle on it. It stayed down, and the radio went quiet.

Lancer realized he was holding his breath, listening intently as the shiny black tape began circling round inside. Then, suddenly, it crackled to life, a low, staticky voice crooning from the speakers. He grinned, and Gilgamesh laughed. Cu looked up at him, realizing how close they both were now. Faces only inches from each others, hairs brushing together. In the dark, it was getting hard to make out his features, but he could still see his eyes, glowing like flames in the setting sun. he smelled like sand and sweat, every bit the desert king Cu had read about.

Slowly, carefully, Cu leaned in. His lips brushed against Gilgamesh's, soft, experimental. They had done things to each other before, but kissing, that was not one of them. Carefully, he pulled back, trying to get a reading of his face. The evening shadows had finally consumed it. Without warning the temperature had dropped, plunging the world into a evening chill- the space between them was burning up though.

"Well?" Gilgamesh scoffed. "Are you just going to sit there like a dumbstruck pup, or are we going to continue?"

"Pup?" Cu laughed. "I ain't a dog, but I'm _definitely_ no pup." 

And with that, the burning space between them was no more.

 


	2. perfect blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At what temperature does gold start to melt?

Gilgamesh has never really had a preference for the color blue. In his day blue was expensive, it was a color preserved strictly for royalty, and even then he rarely saw it other than in the vast sky above. That was a pale blue, and clear blue- and the waters, they were a much greener blue. Not like Lancer.

Lancer is a walking shock of color, regardless of what he is wearing. The same startling eyes as his own, but that hair- the brightest blue he has ever seen. It would be unfathomable, in his time- the man would have been seen as some sort of god, or perhaps a demon, with such long hair so rich in color.

As he crouches over the man, pinning him beneath him, he can't help but run his fingers through that hair. Lancer is smirking, even as he lies in the position of prey, and Gilgamesh purrs, sinking down to lie across his chest. His hair is long and soft, perfect ribbons of blue. He watches as it slides down through his grasp, spilling across the floor in gentle coils.

He does not think it's fair that a mongrel such as him could have such beauty, even if he is divine. Lancer is still a dog, but he looks like he was carved from some precious stone, smooth skin with the same warmth as the sun, sparklingly iridescent despite his atrocious taste in garb. Gilgamesh wonders if he even knows how unfairly beautiful he is, how strong the urge to watch him crumble really is. He wants to tarnish him, see how much it takes it make him break- he wants to throw him at the wall and hold him there, cave him in and hollow him out, taste him and own him and show him once and for all where his place really is.

Lancer cups his head in his hands, bringing it down so he can kiss him. He is a lot like a fire, a warm glow that bursts into uncontrollable flames without a moment's warning. He burns hot, charring Gilgamesh's insides, and he wonders at what temperature gold starts to melt.

 


	3. The Sound of Waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A world cannot exist inside a shell- try telling that to the crab that lives there.

"You know what one of my favorite things is?" Lancer asks, looking up at Gilgamesh from his spot onn the floor. It is another summer day, nowhere near as painfully humid as some of the others have been. There is a large shell in his hand, something he snagged while fishing, and he is turning it about as though it is some sort of jewel.

"No," Gilgamesh replies, not showing interest with a question but allowing space for the dog to continue. He does.

"The sound of waves, when you put a seashell to your ear." Lancer grins.

Gilgamesh smiles slightly, amused. Such a simple and childish joy, and yet it does not seem out of place for him. He studies the shell, its ridges and curves as it coils in on itself, spiking out along its edges. Sea creatures certainly knew how to adorn themselves- survival was not a fool's game, and aquatic life had turned protective measures into an art.

"It is not waves, Lancer." he informs the man, leaning back on his arms. "You can hear the same sound if you cup your hands over your ears- it's the sound of blood rushing, bounding back from the inside of the shell." A smirk tugs at his lips at his eyes the tie-dyed man. He doesn't wear his armor around the house as much as he used to, and though he pretends he does not notice, he does. "Surely even _you_ should know that a single shell could not contain its own ocean." He cannot help but smirk. He expects Lancer to scowl, and he does, but it is not one of disappointment and surrender. 

"What makes you say that?" he asks, tossing the shell at him. Gilgamesh catches it, instinctively. It is rough against his hands, crannies created by years of rolling in the sands, its insides pearly smooth. "You can summon forth an infinite chain from a bunch of floating portals. We were brought here by a cup. You aren't in any position to be saying what is and isn't possible." 

"There are simple explanations for those," Gilgamesh retorts, but Lancer cuts him off, a mischievous glint in his dark red eyes.

"Yeah, magic. There's an infinite amount of realities out there, right?"

"Are you implying that this shell holds an alternate reality within it?" Gilgamesh scoffs- he snorts, actually, but he tries to pass it off as a scoff. Lancer smiles coyly, reaching back for the shell- a simple thing but a treasure in its own right, if its value was weighed by sentiment -he tosses it once more, before placing it on the ground. 

"Sure. At least, for the crab that was living in it."

Gilgamesh blinks. Lancer's gaze is unshakeable, a shimmer of pride dancing through his irises, disguised as shifting light. He could easily argue the inaneness that was Lancer's point, but he can't bring himself to. The dog has a point. Stranger things have existed than an ocean in a shell, and stranger things exist even still. Who is he to dispute such a thing?

Lancer is a simple man, but even in that simplicity, he can still see the world for all it is worth. It is a different set of lenses and a different sort of clarity than that which Gilgamesh views life through, but a view nonetheless. 

He's missed being able to talk like this. He lives for the thrill and loves a good debate, but sometimes it is nice just to converse.

With a soft chuckle, he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the edge of Lancer's mouth. He looks up, almost startled, warmth emanating from his face as Gilgamesh pulls away.

"What was that for?" he asks, hesitant, as though expecting some follow-up attack of a harsher nature. Gilgamesh smiles gently, though his eyes are still narrowed in a playful manner.

"Nothing, I was just struck with the whim and decided to follow it." He shrugs his actions away, a long slow blink conveying his lack of concern. When he opens his eyes, Lancer is there, still warm, returning the favor. Gilgamesh allows it, as Lancer cups his face in his hands, waves rolling softly in his ears. His eyes close, and he lets the sea swallow them both.

 


	4. our distance and that person

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Most things tend to be that way." Gilgamesh muses, taking one in his hand to get a better look. He rubs the fabric between his fingers for a moment, before releasing it. They both watch as it rejoins the others, continuing its dance. "Things are harder to discern from a distance, leaving room for the mind to fill in the blanks... this, it becomes more personal, creating a unique and impossible to replicate. Seeing it up close can destroy that illusion."

There's something about Summer rain that no other season can compare to. It is welcomed, refreshing as it splashes against his skin. It's evening, a warm breeze knocking balloons about in a way that makes them look like ghosts. They dance wildly, tethered to a clothesline, seeming to glow against the darkening sky. Cu stops to watch them, entranced for a moment, before realizing that they are lanterns, not balloons. They make a thumping sound as they bounce, like a rug being beaten. Rain comes in waves, thanks to the wind, pattering softly on rustling leaves. Somewhere nearby a street lamp flickers to life, and the foliage shimmers.

"Lancer, I'm not waiting for you," Gilgamesh calls, impatient. Cu glances up ahead, enjoying the weather too much to complain. Gil is holding a clear plastic umbrella in one hand, and a bag of groceries in the other -tofu, the only thing the priest can afford on his budget, thanks to poverty vows or whatever. His shoes tap impatiently against the wet sidewalk. Lancer chuckles.

"For someone who is't waiting, you aren't movin too fast." He runs a hand through his hair and shakes it, scattering droplets in an arc around his head. "Go on ahead, I'll catch up."

"Is the weather really that fascinating to you?" Gilgamesh sighs, but he doesn't budge. Cu shifts the weight of his own bags, breathing in deep through his nose. Everything smells fresh, new. He can't keep himself from smiling.

"It's nice, don't you think? The rain makes scents more powerful." The lanterns are still dancing, bobbing about to the rhythm of the breeze. It's sort of magical, in a way that is different from home, but still the same. "It rained a lot in Ulster." He says offhandedly, speaking to the air. Gilgamesh grunts in response.

"I'm guessing it didn't rain a whole lot in the desert?" Cu looks up when he hears footsteps, and sees Gil walking back, stopping at his side to see what he's staring at.

"It was mostly marshland in those days. We had many dry spells though." Gil speaks in a manner that is tense and somewhat guarded, a hesitancy in sharing. Cu hasn't asked a whole lot about the life of the oldest Servant, because he prefers living without swords stuck through his throat. He's got E Rank luck and A Rank saying things he'll live to regret, so when it comes to talking with people like Gilgamesh -as finicky and unpredictable as a cat- it's better to be safe than sorry. Or so he tells himself. He's never been good at practicing what he preaches, when it comes to stuff like that.

"Rain is refreshing." Lancer smiles, but Gil is welcome to join in. The wind has blown droplets into his hair, and they glisten like jewels as they slide down golden locks. Cu catches himself staring, but only because Gil catches him first, raising an eyebrow at him until he has to look back at the lanterns.

"The look like spirits." Gilgamesh voices Lancer's thoughts as they stand in the quiet, rain tapping on their umbrella. Looking up through it is like staring into a pool of diamonds, their own starlit sky beneath the clouds. It is all so serene, so beautiful, it fills Lancer with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. He can't quite place it, but it feels familiar. It makes him think of home.

"I was thinkin the same thing." Cu admits. Without warning, he steps out from the umbrella, walking toward the lights. The wet grass sticks to his legs and then slides away with each step, leaving flattened trails through the thin blue hairs. "Add some screaming and they could be banshees." He chuckles, talking loud enough so that Gil can still hear him. He doesn't have to look back to know that he's probably still very much impatient and very much unamused.

"Kotomine isn't going to enjoy soggy tofu." Gil chides. When Cu looks back, the man is following him at a leisurely pace, hands in his pockets. The umbrella is on the sidewalk, protecting the bags from the rain.

"Kotomine doesn't enjoy anything."

"He enjoys some things. Just not the same things _you_ enjoy." 

"... fair enough." He can't really argue with that, and he doesn't want to. It's nice out. The lanterns are rather plain up close, made from some fibrous texture that doesn't rip when wet. Little electric bulbs glow from inside their cocoons, a whitish-blue that is soothing to look at. They keep bouncing up and down, whirling around the string they're tethered to. "They're less mysterious when they're up close."

"Most things tend to be that way." Gilgamesh muses, taking one in his hand to get a better look. He rubs the fabric between his fingers for a moment, before releasing it. They both watch as it rejoins the others, continuing its dance. "Things are harder to discern from a distance, leaving room for the mind to fill in the blanks... thus, it becomes more personal, creating something unique and impossible to replicate. Seeing it up close can destroy that illusion."

Lancer stares at him, though this time he at least tries to keep it discreet. Gilgamesh can be infuriating to be around sometimes, but there are always moments like this that leave Cu with a sort of reverence.

"Never thought about that." 

"There are a lot of things you don't think of." Gilgamesh smirks, and Lancer does an 180 away from that glimmer of respect. Gil must catch him rolling his eyes, because he laughs. "I jest. You are not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but you are by no means dull."

"Feh. Flattery will get you nowhere." Lancer huffs, arms crossed, and Gilgamesh chuckles again.

"If that's what you take as flattery, I wonder what you would consider an insult..."

"As long as it's not dog, I'm pretty lax." He thinks. That's probably not true, but he's feeling pretty calm right now, soothed by the lights and the rain, so he's not particularly worried about being set off.

"Your aversion to that name is quite strong, isn't it..." Gilgamesh notes, voice trailing off lazily. He doesn't seem to be going anywhere with it, so Cu doesn't feel any need to pursue the train of though. They continue in silence for a bit longer, the rain becoming a light drizzle, dusting Gil's hair with particles that look like a halo in the lanterns' glow. Cu smiles softly, overcome by a peacefulness he hasn't felt in a long time.

"So what of me?" 

"Hm?" Cu breaks from the daze, focusing in on Gil again, not quite sure what he's trying to get at. "What about you?"

"You only ever caught glimpses of me during the war. I can't help but wonder, what sorts of illusions you might have had, and how they have changed now that there is less of a distance." Cu blinks, surprised by how forward he's being. It is only now that he has realized how much 'less' distance there is between them, as they stand mere inches from one another, shoulders brushing against each other at the slightest of movements. The rain is a heavy mist now, glittering like dew in Gilgamesh's hair, on his lips. Cu feels his senses heightening, though he isn't sure why. It's not like they haven't been in more compromising positions before... 

That thought only makes his heart rate quicken, and he forces himself to look back to the lanterns, all too aware of Gil's catlike eyes watching him.

"I dunno." he shrugs, focusing on the mist floating beneath a street light. "I guess it's a bit like the lanterns. You were a lot more mysterious when I only ever saw you from behind." 

It's been awhile since he's thought about it. The golden man that haunted the church. Lancer had had plenty of theories about him at the time, after seeing him enough to know that he wasn't just a straggler from Kotomine's sermons. He was too young and dressed too informally to be an employee, and he interacted with Kotomine too easily to be a spirit, but he didn't seem like a magus, despite the waves of mana that rippled off of him. Some nights, when Lancer would return from scouting, he would find two silhouettes standing in the dark, ignorant or just uncaring toward his presence. The priest he always recognized, but the other, with a faint golden glow and a scent like old wine, was unfamiliar. Cu never bothered asking Kirei about it, because he had known it wouldn't do him any good.

He'd only spoken to Gilgamesh once, before shit had hit the fan. It hadn't cast much light on his identity, but it had been enough. The cracks that would eventually shatter the illusion of the mysterious golden man had spread, and now here they were, standing face to face in the rain.

"Is that a disappointment?" Gilgamesh asks, and for a second Cu thinks he might be worried. It's probably his imagination though.

"Not really. If anything, I think I like it better this way. It was a nice mystery when I was preoccupied with other stuff, but it'd be lonely and frustrating if I still had to go poking around in every nook and cranny to figure out who the hell you were." He pauses, grinning a little. "Not that you don't still make me dig for the things I wanna know." Gilgamesh blinks, then smirks.

"It would be rather boring, don't you think? If I gave you everything as you asked for it, there wouldn't be any mysteries at all. You're a very persistent hound..."

"What'd I just say about dogs?" Cu huffs, but he can't bring himself to be mad, or even exasperated. Gilgamesh chuckles. His hands have found their way to Cu's collar, fingers tucking carefully beneath it, cool and damp against his skin. He feels like he might be glowing, the chill of the air making his face that much warmer. Why is he like this? It's not like this is the first time they have touched each other, the first time they've been this close...

"Things may be easier to interpret freely from a distance, but it's only when you get closer that are are able to see the details that matter." Gil's fingers trace up his neck, intertwining carefully beneath his ponytail. His breath is warm, almost visible in the mist. "And those are often the things I find I like the most."

Gilgamesh's lips are soft, cool from the rain but getting warmer with each second. Cu's hands link behind his back, pulling him closer, until their bodies touch, and the distance is no more.

 


	5. Look This Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilgamesh watches Lancer garden.

Technically, the garden belongs to the church, but that's only because it's on church property. Before Lancer was 'reassigned Masters', the only thing back here was a patch of dry, weed-ridden dirt. The flower boxes in the front were more like rotting trowels, full of empty beer cans and cigarette butts. Oddly enough, those disappeared once Lancer took over the yard.

Gilgamesh has reclined in the hammock that the dog set up for himself a few feet from the flowerbeds. It's a remarkably nice summer day, the sky a soft and shimmering blue, with wisps of clouds floating lazily by. A cool breeze is coming off the ocean, wafting through the city and prompting the colorful petals to stir. They dance casually, bobbing back and forth around Lancer's fingers without a care in the world. Gilgamesh is trying to ignore him, but he's not making it easy.

It's not that Lancer is doing anything in particular; merely being his usual, rambunctious self. He hums a jaunty tune, occasionally muttering words beneath his breath, only for them to be carried by the breeze to where Gilgamesh lies. Even if he were silent, however, it would not be enough to keep him from the king’s mind.

Lancer is loud, if not in volume then in presence. As if his hair, startlingly blue and long enough to snap like a whip when he turns, was not enough to draw attention to himself, his wardrobe has the potential to render lesser men blind. That wretched 'Aloha-shirt', the unholy offspring of tie-dye and Hawaiian floral print, soaked in neon and then slapped together with a pair of all-too-tight leather pants... truly the man is a sight to behold. He is like a parrot, strutting the streets of the city in order to display his brilliant plumage, in hopes of attracting a mate. Or a flock of mates.

So far, his attempts have not been fruitful. This comes as a relief to Gilgamesh, for reasons he cannot comprehend (or perhaps, does not want to comprehend). Birds of a feather flock together, as they say, and if that is the case, then it seems Lancer must be of an entirely different species than those he struggles to court...

He is, though, Gilgamesh reminds himself, as he lies on his side and watches the man tend to the garden. Hands that cannot callous gently place clods of dirt into the ground, packing them into place and moving onto the next. Every time he shifts, his earrings dangle and swing, glaring in the sun. Lancer's hums have turned to whistles, and continue to skip clumsily between the two whilst he continues his work. For all the world he seems not to harbor a single care, and yet Gilgamesh can almost see the dark clouds that circle round above his head.

It's all in his eyes- or rather, beneath them, in the bruise-like circles that just don't go away. Lancer plays the part of laid back fisherman rather well, even with his temper, but there is no escaping the exhaustion that lies beneath the facade. He is tired. He works more jobs than Gilgamesh cares to keep a count of, drowns himself in alcohol and nicotine, and then passes out at the pier or in the park. All to keep himself away from the church.

The garden is the only place that is his, and even then, it is borrowed space, from a man that he detests no less. The pier may be his turf, but it does not belong to him any more than it does the others who spend their afternoons there. Lancer may find solace in his flowers, but at the end of the day he cannot escape the fact... he is a bird of a different breed. He is alone.

To the gates of Hell and beyond, Gilgamesh would defend his honor against any suggestion that he understood the mongrel's feelings... but even so, there is a nagging little piece of him buried deep inside that won't let him truly believe it.

Two-thirds a god, and only one-third a human: created as an instrument for the needs of others... though Lancer could never truly understand how he feels, there is something in their isolation that strikes an old and rusty chord in his lonely soul. There are few in this world that will ever truly understand them, and fewer still who would care to try. They are both alone in their own ways, and there is a sort of solidarity in that.

Gilgamesh sprawls across the woven ropes, finding satisfaction in the way his weight causes them to leave imprints on his skin- proof of their realness, and his own. Another breath of wind breezes by, tousling his hair, and he watches it glide beneath the petals of the flowers, making them flutter up like flowing skirts. Sunny yellows, loud pinks, bright purples, and other mottled shades make up the rainbow of the garden. Lancer turns his head ever so slightly to the side, and despite the bags Gilgamesh can see his eyes glowing with pride. It is an accomplishment, no matter how small, and it is his.

"Well done." Gilgamesh commends his efforts, and Lancer jolts a bit, hair snapping when he looks over at him. Lost in his own thoughts, it seems he hadn't realized he had an audience. Gilgamesh's mouth parts, a serpent's smile upon his face. He watches Lancer with narrowed eyes, amused by the rigidness of his frame, the hesitance in his gaze- a deer caught in the headlights, not sure what it's next move ought to be.

"How long've you been here?" The gardener asks gruffly, running a hand through his hair, not seeming to care that his nails are caked with dirt.

"Awhile now. I hadn't realized you were so absorbed in your work." Gilgamesh chuckles, smiling slyly. "You have quite the green thumb."

"Well, it ain't no Midas touch, but it's better than nothin I guess..." Lancer replies awkwardly, not quite meeting Gilgamesh's gaze. His face is still glistening with sweat from his labor, but his cheeks are turning red, embarrassed by the compliment. A shy dog is not one he is used to, but he welcomes new things.

"I guess the Midas touch is more of your thing though, huh." Lancer stretches, on his feet now. He is only slightly taller than Gilgamesh at full height, but from this angle he towers over him, casting a shadow as he walks over. "Or whatever it's called. Golden Touch?"

"Golden Rule," Gilgamesh says, absent-minded. He's a little distracted, tracing Lancer's form with his eyes, squinting at the sun as it glares behind the man, peering out in wriggling rays to give him a holy look. It's fitting, for the child of a sun god- lose the Hawaiian shirt, and he might actually look the part.

The image of  Lancer without a shirt, loose white robes with multi-colored trim flowing around his waist, adorned with golden ringlets round his neck and arms, enters Gilgamesh's mind, and then he is the one to turn red. Lancer rarely wears his hair down, but Gilgamesh likes it when he does. It accentuates his beauty, framing his face as it tumbles down over his shoulders, scruffy enough to look wild but silky enough to be elegant. He really is a beautiful man. It is not right that Lancer is not his.

Lancer stands at the side of the hammock, and Gilgamesh grabs him by the collar. The dog is startled, tensing as the king pulls him down. Gilgamesh rolls to the side, making space so that he can easily climb atop Lancer. It is not fair for mongrels to be so pretty, it really isn't.

He kisses him, first on the mouth, then the sides of it. He kisses him along the jaw, under his chin, down his throat. He feels Lancer's breaths fluttering in there, a gentle whimper when he kisses harder, cutting off his airway for a moment. He kisses his neck, nibbling at it, tasting the sweat and the earth mingling on his skin. It's disgusting and sweet all at once, and he bites down, sucking hard. Lancer jerks, surprised, but he doesn't resist. Gilgamesh wonders if he's just too tired to fight it, or if he's actually enjoying it. Something hard is pressing against his stomach, so he's assuming it's the latter. He grins against Lancer's skin. It should not matter whether Lancer likes it or not, and it doesn't, not really, but something about it makes Gilgamesh want him more.

He moves back to the mouth, kissing Lancer hard, teeth knocking against each other before he manages to get his tongue in. Lancer is warm, and he tastes like fish, like the air down at the pier. He licks the roof of his mouth, biting at his tongue, wanting to taste his blood. Lancer is whining, struggling to undo the button on his pants, kissing back clumsily in his distraction. Gilgamesh smirks into his mouth, biting down harder, forcing choked sounds up Lancer's throat. He reaches down, grabbing at his crotch through his leather pants, squeezing hard. Lancer writhes, grinding desperately against him, and Gilgamesh moves to bite his other shoulder- digging his teeth in and sucking, leaving marks. He bites too hard, tasting more blood, but it only makes it better. A mongrel should not taste this good, should not arouse so many feelings within him. He does though, and it is maddening.

"Kirei's gonna hear us..." Lancer groans thinly, trying to catch his breath. "He's gonna come out and see us."

"He won't care," Gilgamesh pants, grinding into Lancer, stifling a purr. "I'm sure he'd find it amusing, if he spared it a second glance." This makes Lancer's face burn redder, and Gilgamesh grins, kissing him again, softer this time. He would like to melt against him. Coat him in gold, preserve that priceless expression so that he can look upon it whenever he pleases. But then he wouldn’t be able to see those warm eyes or feel the softness of his hair. Gilgamesh runs his fingers through it, feeling it’s silkiness glide against his skin. Warmth and softness do not last, and to try and keep them is to sacrifice something greater than what will be gained. Perhaps there will come a time when he will find a way to hold onto a moment forever, but for now he will let things stay as they are.

He kisses Lancer once more, letting himself lie upon his chest. Lancer whines, still thrusting against him, not appreciating the thought of being left hanging. Gilgamesh laughs, glancing up at him with a smirk.

“And here I thought you’d be tired out by your gardening.”

“You can’t just get the engine started and leave it running, it’s a waste.” The dog whines, and suddenly, he has Gilgamesh by the chin, pulling his face closer and kissing him hard. Their breath mixes and Gilgamesh cannot stifle the gasp that slips from his throat, as Lancer’s hand snakes beneath his shirt, pressing firmly into his back.

Gilgamesh can’t stop himself from melting, arms wrapping around Lancer’s neck, kissing him deeply beside the fluttering petals of the garden.


	6. Candy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pocky Day was last year but it's never too late (too early?) for cookie kissing shenanigans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHOUT OUT TO JIKKYUU ON TWITTER WHO'S INTEREST IN THE FIC GAVE ME MOTIVATION TO WRITE ANOTHER CHAPTER

“Have you ever heard of a pocky game?” Cu asked, munching another stick as he studied the colorful box. It had been a few months since his residence at the church had become something close to permanent, but it always amazed him how many things there still were that he didn’t know about yet. Mostly just types of food or forms of entertainment he didn’t need to know to get by. Because really, was it necessary for a Servant to know all the different brands of cup noodles there were? Or the different flavors of chocolate bars? It wasn’t really important information, but it was kind of fun- if there was always something new to learn, life would never get too boring.

Gilgamesh paused in his rummaging, turning away from the cupboards to give Cu a withering look, which stated very clearly, ‘I have been here for over ten years, of course I know what that inane thing you just mentioned is, you mongrel’- his usual response to stupid questions. Cu took another bite, enjoying the chocolate coating. He liked chocolate. It hadn’t existed in his homeland, when he’d been alive, so he’d never gotten a chance to try it until now- and he definitely loved it. Putting it on cookies made it even better.

“What is it?” Cu asked, reaching into the box for another piece. He’d snagged it on his way back from work, when he was picking up cigarettes. He’d gotten his paycheck a few days early, and decided to just grab what he needed on the way home. He liked chocolate, and he liked cookies, but he’d never seen them in stick form before, so he’d decided to splurge and give them a try. So far, he was enjoying them.

“What is what?” Gil sighed, looking back at him, seeming impatient. It was a rather cool day, a fresh breeze flowing through the house, but Gilgamesh was still dressed down, wearing a t-shirt instead of his usual long sleeved, or a jacket. It was always a little weird seeing him all casual- even if Cu had seen it more than a dozen times by now, it always seemed a bit alien. Gilgamesh was just a naturally formal person, he supposed. Even that biker jacket he liked to wear was more stylish than anything Cu owned.

“The pocky game. How do you play?” He asked again, shaking the box a bit. On the back, it had said something about being ‘perfect for the pocky game’, but it didn’t give any further description. Gilgamesh came over to the table, looking at the box.

“It is a game for children. Or teens, I suppose.” He pulled a stick from the box, and placed it in his mouth, biting down gently and letting it stick out, pointing down at Cu. “It is a game for two. Both parties bite down on one end, and try to see how close they can get without snapping the stick in two.” 

“Aaaah, it’s one of those kissing games.” Cu grinned, chuckling. He’d heard of those sorts of things, stuff like ‘spin the bottle’, games kids made up as excuses to get closer to each other. “Cute. Didn’t know they made snacks just for that.”

“I doubt they were made with a game in mind.” Gilgamesh tssked, crunching the pocky in his mouth. “Children simply saw an opportunity to humiliate one another, and took advantage of it.”

“That’s a real negative way to look at a game about candy, Gil.” Cu snorted. Awhile ago, he might have been annoyed by the man’s attempts to twist such an innocent thing into a ‘dark look at humanity’, but at this point it was just amusing. He was used to it by now. Gilgamesh chuckled a bit, drawing another piece of pocky from the box. As Cu glanced down, he realized it was the last one. “Oi, put that back, you got your freebie.”

“You’ve eaten the entire box on your own, Lancer, you won’t let me have more than one?” Gilgamesh smirked at his stinginess, not making any effort to put the pocky back. 

“I paid for this with my own pay check, I can eat as much as I want.” He grunted, about to snatch it back. Then, he got an idea, and grinned. “Alright, I got it, how ‘bout we split it?” 

“How generous of you, Lancer.” Gilgamesh replied sarcastically. He made like he was going to snap it in half, before Cu grabbed his wrist.

“No, not like that.” He shook his head, snatching the pocky back before Gil could give him hell for touching him without permission, or something like that. Then he stuck it between his teeth and grinned. “Like thish!”

Gilgamesh stared at him in the same way he would stare at an actual dog- unamused, and a little annoyed. 

“What sort of fool do you take me for, Lancer?” He asked. “Do I look like a teenager to you? Or do you still have the mind of one?”

“Oh come  _ on _ , don’t be a stick in the mud!” Cu laughed. “It’ll be fun. Unless you’re scared of losing at a game for kids?” He smirked. Gilgamesh was not taken in by this challenge- he looked an unfazed as before.

“If that was your attempt at riling me, you’ll have to do better than that.” He mused. 

“Alright then, I guess I’ll just finish this myself. I’m sure Kotomine still has some tofu in the fridge that’ll taste just as good.” Cu sighed, giving Gilgamesh a knowing look as he reclined back in his seat. At this, the king finally faltered. Cu had seen him going through the shelves, looking for anything that wasn’t the usual slop that served as breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Even if they didn’t need to eat much, it was the thought of the stuff- the taste and scent that lingered everywhere after a while, that really got to you. Try as he may to be above it, even Gil wasn’t safe from the red hell of mapo. 

“Alright then, dog. I will play your game.” Gilgamesh sat down across from him, and leaned forward without another word. Trying not to grin too much, Cu followed suit. 

It was a bit more difficult than he had anticipated. The pocky was fairly brittle, and easy to snap if he moved his head around too much. If there was one thing this was good for, it was shutting each other up. Though he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to get Gil to play it with him again, after this. He didn’t seem to care for games that weren’t of his own invention, from what Cu had observed. Especially not games where the purpose was to make him do something silly and childish. But if Gil could get his kicks by putting Cu in uncomfortable situations, he didn’t see anything wrong with a quick role reversal.

Gilgamesh was good. Cu had expected him to just snap the thing in half on his first bite, to get it done with and make off with a snack, but he was taking it slow, carefully breaking off bit by bit, getting closer. It was a bit weird, Cu realized, having their faces so close to each other without actually doing anything. They had kissed plenty of times by now, but whenever that happened, they didn’t typically linger in place, staring at each other without movement. There wasn’t really any acknowledgement of the closeness, and if there was, it wasn’t for long. Gilgamesh did not look particularly uncomfortable, either. Cu wanted to step up his game, but he wasn’t exactly sure how to do that- or if he could even have ‘game’ at pocky. Worst of all, he realized, he could feel his face starting to heat up, as things continued to not go his way. Trying to ignore the embarrassment by focusing on something else wasn’t helping either, considering the only thing he could see right now was Gilgamesh’s stupid face. He swallowed what bit of pocky he had bitten off, and glared.

“You could cut your losses now, Lancer. I wouldn’t judge you.” Gilgamesh mumbled quite eloquently around his half of the stick, looking rather smug. How the hell could this guy turn something as simple as the pocky game into a battle for dominance? Nevermind the fact that Cu had started this challenge. Gilgamesh had already claimed it as his own.

“What losses? You think I’m afraid of a little kiss?” Cu replied, speaking carefully, so as not to snap the cookie between his teeth. “You’re acting like we’ve never done somethin’ like this before.”

“Am I? Then it must just be the lighting that is making your face appear so red.” Gil smirked, and moved closer, before Cu could retaliate. His ear were burning. Even when he thought he had the upper hand, he always managed to stumble before he reached the end goal. Could anyone really blame him, though, when his opponent was Gilgamesh? He should have known that a silly little kissing game wouldn’t be enough to fluster the guy.

Cu nibbled carefully, not wanting to lose any ground. They kept on getting closer, but the whole time, Cu noticed, Gilgamesh did not take his eyes off of him. He wasn’t sure if he should meet his gaze, or ignore it. There was hardly anything at stake, yet Cu was determined not to lose. He wasn’t timid about this sort of stuff, he’d been the one to invite Gil to play with him to begin with! The pocky was starting to get soggy between their mouths, the chocolate melting, and Cu knew that soon, they were going to have to make the final move. Unless one of them were to snap it now, the only logical next step would be the last one. Cu swallowed what was still in his mouth, and moved in.

There wasn’t any more space in between them. Their lips met for only a moment, brushing softly against each other, before Gilgamesh’s tongue darted into Cu’s mouth. Cu tried to make some sort of sound, startled, as Gil grabbed him by the shoulder, kissing him deeply. Cu could feel the edge of the table digging into his back, as Gilgamesh pushed into him, tongue sliding against his.

For a moment, Cu just sat there, stunned by the suddenness, letting himself be pushed against the table as the man kissed him fervently. He managed to rise from his stupor, though, and pushed back, grabbing onto Gil’s head to hold him in place as he returned the kiss. His mouth still tasted of chocolate, and crumbs from the pocky stick lingered here and there, as their tongues pushed into each other. The middle bit of the cookie, Cu realized, was still in there, getting mushy as they went back and forth, hot breath mingling between them. If he’d felt flushed before, he was worse off now, trying to at least sit up straight, but struggling against Gilgamesh’s weight. He pulled back, wanting to catch his breath, but Gilgamesh followed, deepening the kiss even further.

Cu bit his lips, planting one hand against the table to push himself upward, pushing Gil along with him in the process. He needed to come up for air, but Gil didn’t seem interested in breathing, licking the roof of Cu’s mouth before biting at him. It wasn’t that hot out, but Cu felt plenty warm, sweat beading while Gilgamesh kissed him. He couldn’t remember a time he’d ever been the recipient of a kiss this fierce. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever  _ given  _ a kiss this fierce. Gilgamesh all but had him pinned, and Cu was feeling lightheaded, his body prickling with heat.

Gil’s tongue slid against his once more, snagging what was left of the pocky. Then, just like that, he retreated, pulling back. Cu collapsed back into his seat, confused, as Gilgamesh rose to his feet, wiping his mouth. He gulped, swallowing the rest of his snack, then smirked, a playfully devious look in his eyes as he turned away. Cu panted, finally able to breathe, 

“I win.” He chuckled, then off he went, leaving Cu with those two words, and a box of pocky crumbs. Cu swallowed, face still warm. He may not have won, but he definitely didn’t feel like a loser.


	7. our own world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place directly after the 'our distance and that person' chapter, I just had writers block on it for the longest time and wound up posting other things before it xD

It's another damp day, the sky too dark to be awake but too bright to sleep as gray clouds roll slowly over the church. There is a draft running through the building, chilly enough that Lancer finds himself shuddering as he wanders around the empty sermon hall, trying to close any of the windows they'd left open the day before. It's amazing how one day it's so hot he feels like he's going to die, and the next it's cold enough that he misses the humidity. His body has been adjusting to the heat somewhat, but it's more a matter of conditioning- he's gotten used to the warmth and now when the temperature drops his body doesn't know what to do.

One of the windows is open halfway, but when he tries to close it, it sticks fast. Frowning, he puts more weight on it. The sill is slick with raindrops, and the floor beneath it is too, stained dark from where the water's eaten away at it for who knows how long. The window doesn't budge, but his shoes slip on the hardwood floor, and he finds himself flat on the ground, grumbling and dazed.

"Fine, have it your way." he smooths out his shirt, giving the window a glare that says it may have won the battle, but not the war. He'll get a towel for the floor later, he doesn't feel like dealing with this right now.

His lungs feel empty, and they decide he needs a cigarette, even though he doesn't particularly want one, so now he's on the deck, damp air and smoke filtering into him. It's misting still, but it's colder than it was last night. His head is feeling a little stuffy, and the smoke isn't doing a whole lot to help it, but it doesn't seem to be hurting either, so he keeps on dragging, watching the dull morning roll by. Fog hugs the ground like a tired, lumbering beast, clinging to distance buildings and hanging off the trees, obscuring them within itself.

Water drips on the soft petals of his flowers, nestled just under the edge of the roof. Even with this dreary atmosphere, they still manage to brighten up the world a little. Lancer crushes what's left of his cigarette and smiles.

Inside, the church is quiet. It's a little eerie. Kirei is bound to be somewhere, but Lancer has no desire to find him. He's not entirely sure how he should spend his day- the pier is probably miserable, the roof is wet, and the soil is too damp to bother trying to garden. He could go for a walk, but the rain just makes it miserable. TV is always an option, he supposes, eying the empty couch. It’s always strange to see it unoccupied.

His shifts have dropped in number, now that kids are out of school and looking for work. There are more people scrambling to get hours, and he’s found himself weedled out of all but the flower shop for now. Not that he really minds… it’s nice to have a break from the constant stream of work. But it’s strange to see the empty house all day. Usually he’s only home in the evening, and by then, Gilgamesh has taken up residence on the couch, and he’s gotta fight him for space to fold the laundry.

He’s not here now, though. Cu glances at the old wooden clock, in all its imposing glory. Made of dark wood, easily half a foot taller than him, the grandfather clock has always seemed like a doppelganger of the priest- an evil charm left behind to watch over the church whenever Kotomine isn’t present. It’s just about noon, but Gilgamesh still hasn’t risen. Usually he’s up by now…

Lancer ascends the stairs, pausing before the door to the room he and Gilgamesh used to share. It’s not that he cares about Gil’s sleep schedule or anything… he’s just bored.  
“Gil, you up?” He asks, loud enough to be heard through the door. He raps on the wood a few times for good measure, but the only response he gets is a cough. After a few seconds, he tries again. “Gil? It’s almost noon… if you want some breakfast, you should get downstairs now, before I eat it for lunch.”

Still, nothing. With a frown, Cu pushed the door open, and peers in. All he sees is a bundle of blankets on the bed.

“Gilgamesh? You okay?”

“I am fine. Begone.” A stuffy voice that sounds a bit too pitiful to belong to the King of Heroe growls. He sounds clogged up. Ignoring his warning, Cu steps in, leaving the door open behind him in case he need to make a hasty escape. The blanket mound shifts, a pair of red eyes peeking out from beneath the folds. Gil is glowering up at him, unamused by his persistence. “Did I not make myself clear?” He starts to threaten, but it’s cut off by an explosive sneeze. It leaves him winded, sniffling irritably within his shroud of quilts. It looks like he’s gathered several from the chest beneath the bed, making himself a plushy cocoon overnight.

“Dude, are you sick?” Cu asks, pulling the blanket down a bit. Gilgamesh’s eyes flash warningly, but any chance he has of intimidating him flies out the window when Gil reached up to wipe his running nose. It turns out the red of his eyes is more from the bloodshot color that comes with a lack of sleep, rather than the natural hue of his irises. “Shit, Gil, what happened?”

He hadn’t known Heroic Spirits could even get sick. Though, when he thinks about it, neither of them are Servants in the most traditional sense anymore… though he can’t say that they’re humans, they’re certainly more alive than they were during the war. Cu wracks his brain, and remembers the rain from last night, going from a drizzle to a downpour in an instant, drenching them as they stood in the lantern light, distracted by… other things. They hadn’t cared at the time, letting their clothes get soaked, walking home with jackets limp and dripping from their bodies as they fought over the single umbrella one of them had thought to bring. They’d collapsed in a pile on the couch when they got back, too tired to care. Cu had peeled himself up at some point in the dusky morning, and gone to shower the chill away. Gil had disappeared, leaving his wet jacket on the floor beside their impromptu bed. They’d been there all night, by that window that wouldn’t close… damn, that must have been it. Lying there with that chill, still soaked to the bone, it must have gotten to Gil.

“Stop giving me that look, mongrel.” Gilgamesh snarls, but his head is too stuffed up to convey the intended threat. He looks miserable. Cu wonders why only Gil caught cold.

“What look?” Cu asked, grabbing up another quilt from where it’s fallen to the floor.

“You know which one… the pitying one.” Gil sniffs, still glaring at him, full of indignation. Cu drapes the blanket over Gilgamesh’s shoulders.

“You look terrible.”

“At least I have illness to blame for it.” Gilgamesh doesn’t miss a beat, and Lancer laughs, a dry smile on his face.

“That’s not what you were sayin’ last night.”

“I don’t believe I said anything about your appearance, mutt.” Gil’s tone teeters on dangerous, even with his cold, but Cu likes to live on the edge.

“Well yeah, your mouth was a little preoccupied.” He teases.

“It will be preoccupied again in a moment, so unless you wish to part with that mouth of yours, I would suggest you shut it.”

The threat comes through more clearly this time, and with a reluctant sigh, Lancer relents. He pulls the blanket tight around Gil’s shoulders.

“What are you doing?” He asks, sneezing again. Cu pulls back, away from the blast.

“Trying to keep you warm.” He replies. “You look cold. And I’m pretty sure that’s what you’re supposed to do when someone’s sick.” He presses the back of his hand to Gilgamesh’s forehead, and as he expects, its warm. He can’t help but feel responsible. He was the one who decided to wander out and look at those damn lanterns, and the one who had been too lazy to close the windows when they got home… Now Gil is sick, and he looks downright miserable.

“I see you’ve never cared for a sick person before.” Gilgamesh muses, watching as Lancer mills back and forth, gathering blankets and pillows from the closet and beneath the bed.

“I was usually the one getting sick.” Cu shrugs, tossing an old, stiff pillow Gil’s way. It thumps lightly against his chest, and tumbles down into his lap, where he doesn’t bother to pick it up. “I mean, when I was a teen, out training and stuff… I would always work past where I was supposed to, didn’t get enough sleep, and I wound up catching a cold or whatever, and my teacher would have to look after me.”

Cu wasn’t around home enough to have to take care of any of his daughters when they were sick. He wishes he had been. He wonders if Emer ever got sick. If their children had to look after her, while he was off fighting, or travelling, or doing whatever.

“Divinity doesn’t help much in the end, does it?” Gilgamesh chuckles dryly, leaning back into the growing mound of pillows. Cu grabs a box of tissues from the table on the side of the bed that used to be his, and hands it to Gil. “Somehow germs still manage to find their way in.”

“Yeah… least it’s just a cold. You could have the flu. Would suck to be throwing up all day.” Cu chuckles, and gives Gil the last blanket he can find, an old yellowing quilt with purple checkers around the edge. There’s a flower in the middle. He wonders where Kotomine got this stuff. “Is this the first time you’ve gotten sick?” Cu asks, pulling one last pillow out from the closet. Gilgamesh snorts, and when Cu turns back, the man is looking at him like he’s stupid. He huffs, rolling his eyes. “I mean since you were summoned, asshole. You’ve been here longer than me… Have you gotten colds before?”

Gilgamesh’s gaze softens somewhat. It’s hard to tell, but he looks just the slightest bit embarrassed. Cu hands him the pillow, and props the other two around him, creating a cozy little cave.

“There have been a few times where I haven’t been in top shape, but nothing so severe as to leave me bedridden.” He grumbles, wiping his nose with a tissue. Cu looks at his slowly forming fort. It’s not much, but it looks comfortable, and Gil isn’t complaining, so that’s a good sign. The rain is pattering against the window, a soft but steady drum against the roof. Gilgamesh snuggles down into the blankets, sniffling. Cu knows that Gilgamesh will hate him for it if he says anything, but it’s hard not to find him cute like this. Even when he’s lounging around in sloppy clothes, Gilgamesh still has an air of regality, of danger, like a wildcat resting in a sunbeam, content but always ready to pounce. Right now he looks more like a disgruntled kitten, buried in blankets. Cu feels a distinct urge to cuddle him, but it’s not something he’s willing to lose his life over.

“Would you like some soup or anything?” He asks. Cu’s pretty sure soup is the food you’re supposed to give sick people, though he isn’t sure why. “Or, uh, tea maybe? I think there’s some downstairs, I could brew you up a cup.” They probably don’t have soup, but tea he’ pretty sure they have. And if worst comes to worst, he can always sprint to the store.

Gilgamesh snuggled deeper into the blankets

“No, that’s alright.” He says, still a bit put off. Then, after a moment, he adds, “Thank you.”

Cu smiles slightly. He looks out the window, at the droplets sliding down the glass. Just looking at it makes him feel damp and cold. He sits upon the bed, watching the rain fall.

“You said it rained a lot where you’re from.” Gilgamesh has turned his head, following Cu’s gaze. “It was often cold there, yes?”

“In the fall and winter, yeah. It was warmer in the summer, but we still got a lot of rain. But it always felt fresher in the spring and the summer. Cleaner, somehow. Like it wasn’t weighed down by the misery of the cold.” Cu says, smiling somewhat. It’s hard to deny that he misses it. There isn’t anything wrong with Fuyuki, besides the fact that he’s still stuck with Kotomine. But it isn’t his home. He’s sure most of the other Servants feel the same. Gilgamesh’s gaze is a bit distant, like he’s watching the rain fall somewhere else.  
Despite the windows being sealed tight up here, the foggy grey still makes Cu shiver. He lies down, resting his head on one of Gil’s pillows.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you… you’ll get sick too. Wouldn’t want you missing work.” Gilgamesh tuts, then sniffles. Cu chuckles, and worms his way up, closer to the pillows.

“I don’t have many shifts this month, it’s fine.” He smiles, snuggling against Gil’s blanket mound. He can feel his body heat radiating from it, and it’s impossible to resist. Gilgamesh looks down at him for a moment, as if thinking very hard, before pulling some of the blankets aside, inviting Lancer in.

“If you wind up ill, don’t expect me to take care of you.” He warns. Cu snuggles up, wrapping the blankets around himself. The two of them are surrounded by a ball of quilts and covers, with a nice wall of pillows to protect the from… something or other. It’s a nice little fort against the chill of the rain outside. Without the TV on downstairs, or Kotomine moving around in the kitchen, the church is so quiet, so peaceful… up here, away from the rest of the city, from people… it’s like a world of their own.

“After all the expert care I’ve just provided you? Harsh.” Cu laughs, resting his head against Gil’s. He likes when they can be quiet like this, just the two of them. Sometimes it frustrates him, not knowing how to define whatever it is that the two of them have- clearly more than allies, more than just acquaintances, but not exactly friends, not in any specific ‘relationship’... but moments like these, small and isolated and comfortable, it makes Cu feel as though there’s no real need for a definition. That comfort will come and go, he knows, but for the moment he’s glad to live in it.

Gilgamesh rests his head against his shoulder, nestling deeper into their tiny fort. His breathing is soft and rhythmic, very content, and Cu listens to it as the rain keeps time, a quiet melody for the two of them. He can’t see the clock from here, and without the sun, it’s hard to tell how much time has passed, when Gilgamesh’s breathing slows, and the man has drifted back into sleep, his body weighing heavy against Cu’s, sharing his heat beneath the mess of quilts. Cu smiles softly, turning his head to kiss the top of Gil’s, feeling the warmth radiating from him still. Hopefully, he’ll be better by tomorrow. Until then, though, Cu is happy here.


	8. the space between dream and reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is this the eye of the storm, or is he finally in the clear?

There’s a strange feeling that comes with waking up on your own, slowly and naturally slipping back into consciousness. There is a moment, before the mind registers that the body is awake, where it is hard to distinguish between dreams and reality.

Summer feels a lot like that sometimes. Hair tied up in a messy bun, Lancer sits with a half-melted popsicle hanging from his mouth, dripping pretty colors onto the hardwood floor. Outside the heat is like a blanket, warm and fuzzy as it settled over the city. Looking at the sky is like looking through a dirty window- it’s a hazy, dulled blue, almost grey, despite there not being a single cloud in the sky. The cobbled stone around the flower boxes seems to sizzle, making the air above it dance and wiggle in confusion, tricking the eye with a wavering mirage. Cicadas cry out, singing in tune with a distant radiator, a buzz that seems intrinsically linked to the heat.

Time doesn’t pass during days like this. The sun inches slowly across the sky, but nothing happens. Something about it brings a feeling of nostalgia, so deep he could drown. There are many caverns beneath for him to explore, the source of it all hiding somewhere deep, but he can’t explore them all before he runs out of air, so he floats instead. The surface of the water is like silver, its temperature close enough to that of the air that it feels almost like he’s flying. It’s times like these where he thinks it would be alright if the world just stopped. He would be okay living in this moment forever.

Lancer’s life has been feeling like that dream space for awhile now. This summer is a fuzzy inchworm, crawling across the windowsill, its journey measured only in the moments where it pauses to soak everything in. It is an ordinary action, utterly mundane, and yet watching it brings on a feeling of the surreal. Something about it is off, something so slight it cannot recognized, but when he looks at the big picture, the cause and effect is clear. 

It’s Gilgamesh’s fault. He’s the one who shifted the balance of the universe, and broke down reality in the process. They’re living in a limbo, right on the cusp of an alternate existence, where maybe the word enemies isn’t the right way to describe them any more.

They aren’t supposed to get along, but it’s hard to say they don’t. They still don’t see eye to eye on most points, but lately they’ve been able to reach understandings rather than conflicts. Lancer enjoys a lot of the conversations that they have. He even looks forward to seeing him during these lazy days spent at home, between the onslaught of shifts he juggles each week. It’s nice to talk to someone he doesn’t have to put on a charade for, who already knows he’s not a normal human being. He doesn’t have to hold anything back, or worry about slipping up and mentioning something he really shouldn’t say. It’s refreshing.

Maybe that’s the reason he’s been referring to this oxymoron of a church as his home. Not just because he’s stuck squatting here, but because it is a place where he can find some semblance of belonging.

That nostalgic pool he’s floating on ripples in a sudden breeze, a surprising cool splashing his face. There’s a chill to the air, a drop in the temperature, and the haze is looking more like clouds than it was before. The sudden shift implies a storm is coming, and Lancer shivers in spite of himself. He’s not fond of thunder, but the wind startles him from the feelings of summer, bringing thoughts of autumn with it.

It’s a lot like waking up. A feeling of confusion, a realization thumping on his chest like cinderblocks and slamming him off the bed. The dream is done, and reality is back in place. No matter how slow the inchworm crawls, it will eventually reach its destination, and the endless summer will finally shift to fall. Things will start to move again. 

Will any of it stay the same? It’s easy to pretend this is just the way things are now, that he will continue to work through the hot days, and come home to find Gilgamesh sprawled out somewhere, pretending like he has something better to be doing. That there will be those days in between where neither are busy, and they go off to find new ways to enjoy this second life here in Fuyuki. Once the summer passes though, Cu doesn’t know how much longer these lazy days will last. 

Lancer is not a man who is used to planning for the future. That wasn’t a problem, for a man who knew he would die young. Now though, he’s out in the open seas, with no land in sight.

The cool breeze blows through the open doors, and with a sigh, he slurps up the rest of his popsicle and stands. Looks like it’s time to prepare for rain. The doors slam when he pushes them, and he moves onto the windows, making sure none of them are left open for water to splatter through. Kotomine is off for the weekend, but he will not be happy if he comes home to find water stains on the floors.

“Seems like a storm is coming.” Gilgamesh says, suddenly there, standing a ways back in the hall. Lancer glances at him, popsicle stick hanging between his teeth. 

“What gave it away? The wind, or me shutting the doors?” 

“Neither.” Gilgamesh shrugs. He walks by lazily, soaking up the last of the day’s heat, before leaning against the wall. “I could feel the airs shifting. A cold front is rolling in.” He gives Lancer  a curious look, as if trying to gauge his reaction, and Cu grimaces. 

“You should be a weatherman.” He replies, biting off what’s left of the popsicle and swallowing it. It hurts a little, but he’ll live. 

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the dog house this morning.” Gil smirks, and Lancer has to fight not to roll his eyes. “You seem on edge, mongrel. Not afraid of a bit of thunder, are you?” 

“Of course not.” Lancer growls. Discomfort is not fear, after all. He can hear the wind starting to push against the church already, wondering why its been shut out all of a sudden. Gilgamesh is eying him expectantly, like he’s waiting for him to say something else, maybe to snap and start a fight. It’s not unusual for Gilgamesh to pick a fight just because he’s bored. Gilgamesh does not do well with complacency- he and Cu are similar like that. He’s not in the mood for a fight right now, though, so Gilgamesh will have to settle for a different form of entertainment.

He grabs Gilgamesh by the collar, snagging him and pulling him back. A snarl has formed in his mouth already, but Lancer pays it no mind, mashing lips with his and kissing him hard. Gil stands stiff and boardlike for a moment, stunned by the suddenness, but he relents without much persuasion. Lancer cups his head in his hand, running fingers through golden hair, breathing in deep through his nose. He wants to memorize the moment, the scent and taste and feel of it all, so that he has something to remember it by. He wants to remember the good parts, keep them under the surface so he can look back on them later and not feel alone.

Gilgamesh pulls back, mouth parted with his tongue still sticking slightly out, dragging along a doglike whine from the back of Lancer's throat. The serpent lets out a laugh that seems to slither off his tongue, eyes unable to narrow thanks to lingering surprise. 

"I'm surprised. This is the most forward you have ever been- and you are a very forward man." Loosely, he links his arms over Lancer's shoulders, hands finding a resting place at the nape of his neck. Lancer shudders, and the sound he makes is one of a weak, weak man. One who is trying much too hard to stay in the present. He wants Gil to be his anchor, to keep him from floating away into uncertain waters- he isn't ready to leave this place, not yet. He kisses Gilgamesh again, pressing him against the wall and leaning into him. Gil does not resist.

It’s hard. Lancer doesn’t know if there’s a word to describe what they are. What Gilgamesh is to him. He’s not entirely sure he wants to know what he is to Gilgamesh, if it would be gratifying or devastating. The fact that he’s given Gilgamesh the power to devastate him is too much already, but that’s where he is. He’s trying to hold onto something that he can’t even define, and he’s scared of how he’ll feel if he loses it.

“I’m not used to you being quite so needy.” Gilgamesh smirks into their kiss, but Lancer can hear him panting softly, before he pushes off of the wall, maneuvering Lancer toward the couch. Lancer lets him, wanting so desperately to be swallowed by this moment, by Gilgamesh. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Getting so invested, so attached. It was a nice dream, but every day they drift closer to the surface, and once they’re in reality, Lancer isn’t sure what will happen next. He isn’t sure he’s ready for a next. 

Gilgamesh pushes him down onto the couch, just as the thunder cracks overhead, and Cu doesn’t think as he wraps his arms around Gil, hugging him hard. The noise is explosive, as always, and it keeps rumbling in his ears as it fades, his nerves sparking just like lightning. He holds onto Gilgamesh tight, burying his head against him, waiting for it to pass. 

He expects Gilgamesh to just carry on, not taking notice of Lancer’s sudden shift in behavior, but to his surprise, Gil slows, looking at him curiously. Lightning flashes, and Cu can feel the tension in the world around him, as he waits for the next roar. 

Gilgamesh lies down, resting on top of him, and reaching a hand up to stroke Lancer’s hair.

“It is alright. It is only noise. Nothing more.” He says, his voice a rare gentle tone. Cu holds onto him, closing his eyes and breathing in deep through his nose, trying to fill his senses with Gilgamesh’s presence, so that the deafening sound cannot shake them away. 

Storms are born from change. Cold air creeping in to unsettle a warm week. Gilgamesh kisses him, his mouth soft. Cu can remember a time where this moment would be nothing more than a fever dream- Gilgamesh holding him, Gilgamesh comforting him, Gilgamesh being soft. Time happened though, and things changed, bringing their odd dream closer to being reality. A warm front after a long chill. Winter melting into spring, burning into summer. 

Maybe, just maybe, this is not the eye of the storm that they are living in, but the end of it. Fall may come, and winter too, but Cu will just have to hold on until spring comes again.


End file.
